The Pale Protocol
Chapter One Rolf Lehmann was a man of thirty-two years who could not stop his hands from shaking, a fact that made the work of the docks feel like a series of small, constant failures. He sat in the back of the railway car, the wood splintered and cold against his spine, holding a small, leather-bound book that was not his to read. The ink in the pen he used was black and thick, and it dried on...
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